"Blast your impudent hide!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing out there? Why don't you put supper on the table?"
He would have had silence for an answer, but for the barking of a nearby neighbour's dog. He went into the kitchen, and found the fire nearly out, whereupon he made dire threats against his cook, but, in the end, he was compelled to fish his supper from the pans as best he could.
When he had finished he looked at the clock, and was surprised to find that it was only a little after eight. During the course of an hour and a half, he seemed to have lived and suffered a year and a half. The early hour gave him an opportunity to display one of his characteristic traits. It had never been his way to run from trouble. When a small boy, if his nurse told him the booger-man was behind a bush, he always insisted on investigating. The same impulse seized him now. If this Mrs. Claiborne proposed to make any move against him—as he inferred from the hints which the jovial Mr. Sanders had flung at his head—he would beard the lioness in her den, and find out what she meant, and what she wanted.
Silas was prompt to act on the impulse, and as soon as he could make the house secure, he proceeded to the Gaither Place. His knock, after some delay, was answered by Eugenia. The girl involuntarily drew back when she saw who the visitor was. "What is it you wish?" she inquired.
"If your mother is at home, please ask her if she will see Silas Tomlin on a matter of business."
Eugenia left the door open, and in a moment, from one of the rear rooms came the sound of merry, unrestrained laughter, which only ceased when some one uttered a warning "Sh-h!"
Eugenia returned almost immediately, and invited the visitor into the parlour, saying, "It is rather late for business, mamma says, but she will see you."
Silas seated himself on a sofa, and had time to look about him before the lady of the house came in. It was his second visit to Mrs. Claiborne, and he observed many changes had taken place in the disposition of the furniture and the draperies. He noted, too, with a feeling of helpless exasperation, that his own portrait hung on the wall in close proximity to that of Rita Claiborne. He clenched his hands with inward rage. "What does this she-devil mean?" he asked himself, and at that moment, the object of his anger swept into the room. There was something gracious, as well as graceful, in her movements. She had the air of a victor who is willing to be magnanimous.
"What is your business with me?" she asked with lifted eyebrows. There was just the shadow of a smile hovering around her mouth. Silas caught it, and looking into a swinging mirror opposite, he saw how impossible it was for a man with a weazened face and a skull-cap to cope with such a woman as this. However, he had his indignation, his sense of persecution, to fall back upon.
"I want to know what you intend to do," said Silas. There was a note of weakness and helplessness in his voice. "I want to know what to expect. I'm tired of leading a dog's life. I hear you have been colloguing with lawyers."